


like autumn leaves (we're in for change)

by rudearrow



Series: The Sandbox (Rudearrow's Home for Wayward Ficlets) [1]
Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Space, Blow Jobs, Dragon Alpine, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, Loss of Identity, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Tattoos, Physical Disability, Size Difference, Space Fae, Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudearrow/pseuds/rudearrow
Summary: Fairies in space. That's it. That's the fic.Sometimes, when he cast his mind back, Clint didn’t even recognize himself. It was jarring to realize that even a lifetime as short as his own could contain so many definitive turning points; so many identities.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: The Sandbox (Rudearrow's Home for Wayward Ficlets) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193420
Comments: 26
Kudos: 61
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a quick, warm-up drabble. 500 words, tops. but nooo, brain got hijacked and two days later, here we are.
> 
> loose, hand-wavy backstory: fae colonized space in the year *mumblemumblemumble*. Clint's colony and Bucky's colony are tetchy allies. established relationship. all the character backstory is alluded to. if i did my job correctly, (so sorry if not), that backstory will become clear by fic's end.

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“No, no, _no_ ,” Clint said, eying the lights overhead with trepidation as they flickered feebly. “Not today!” His fingers danced through the ghostly, glowing letters of his keyboard. This sector wasn’t scheduled to lose power for another half hour. “But hey, who’s counting? Not like continuous power loss degrades and corrupts systems data or anything. No big deal! And besides, who cares about time sensitive botanical experiments that will take months to replicate? Not me!”

The laboratory door flew open with a bang that he ignored. 

“Clint! The UPS are still drained from—“ 

“From the _last_ series of rolling blackouts over the past 36 hours, yes, yes, I know, Bucky!”

“...have you even slept since this all started?”

“No comment,” Clint said, rote as during any courtly interview. Seemingly happy to remind him of the answer to the question he’d just sidestepped, Clint’s hearts juddered in his chest alarmingly. He grimaced as the text he was so judiciously typing out swam in his vision. Fuck.

Bucky swore angrily. Clint registered distantly the sound of the other fae’s booted feet on the lab’s drab, tiled floor as he moved closer. “You better believe when this next outage hits I’m chaining you to the bed,” Bucky said, tone low and almost vicious. 

When it came to Clint, despite Bucky’s well-documented status as an irascible individual, his tone was always ‘almost’ vicious. A nugget of warmth bloomed in Clint’s gut in response, prompting him to finally look over at the other fae. He forced his stiff jaw into a creaky grin. “You promise?”

The lights sputtered overhead again— once, twice, before going dark. The flickering glow of Bucky’s eyes illuminated the scant space between them for a long, silent moment. 

“ _Fuck._ ” Clint said feelingly, tilting his head back with a guttural groan of frustration. 

“If you insist, aşkım.”

“Very funny,” Clint muttered with manufactured irritation. He still didn’t know how to react when Bucky called him— well, _that_. Bucky, whose glowing eyes could absolutely see Clint’s faint blush in this darkness, hummed with a satisfied smugness. 

“I thought so,” he said, pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple. “How are your legs after sitting so long?”

Clint sighed, forcing himself to assess his current mobility. He shifted in his chair carefully, hissing at the immediate bolts of agony that shot up his stiff, aching legs. A spasm thrummed low and steady in his left thigh. He’d pushed through worse, but— Bucky laid a gentle hand on Clint’s shoulder, squeezing lightly in reassurance. The chevron inked between Clint’s pectorals warmed in response to Bucky’s contact. Clint leaned into Bucky’s touch, savouring the sensation, debating how to respond. Plain-faced honesty was difficult for a fae raised to lead. For a Barton, obfuscation lessons began in the cradle. 

But he’d made a pact; a commitment...

_”My kind cannot lie. Your royal bloodline aside, any bond we have will always be imbalanced.”_

“ _Please, can’t we at least try? Can’t you find it in yourself to trust me enough to— I just want to_ try _, Bucky._ ”

A promise to meet Bucky’s veracity with his own best effort.

Clint sighed, then turned his head to brush a kiss across Bucky’s long fingers. “Nope, I’m 100% sure if I tried to stand right now, you’d have to yell timber,” he finally replied, ruefully. 

Bucky snorted lightly. “So... you falling into my arms? It’d be a nice repeat of how we met—“

“Excuse you, I didn’t collapse from exhaustion. I _swooned_ from lust.”

“Mm... And to this day I remain flattered,” Bucky said, fond tolerance threaded through his familiar baritone. “Arms up, bebetom.”

“I have to admit, as a kid when I imagined being carried in the arms of my big, strong fae— this isn’t exactly what I’d pictured,” Clint said lightly, ignoring the faint pang of shame that rippled through him as Bucky scooped him up easily. Clint circled his arms around Bucky’s neck for better stability. “Not that I’m complaining, per se.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind then?” Bucky replied absently, navigating them with ease through the faint glow of the emergency lights. 

“Less spasms and more naked, oiled torsos?” Clint replied, then yawned expansively. He blinked, shocked by the sudden all-encompassing wave of fatigue that washed over his frame. Each blink felt like a Herculean effort. His legs were distant, dull throbs of pain amidst the blanketing fog of exhaustion. “‘m startin’ t’get really... tired?”

There was a disconcerting sensation as Bucky shifted Clint in his arms. In short order, Clint was resting against Bucky’s chest, nose tucked against the hollow of the larger fae’s throat. 

Oddly enough, Clint often forgot about their differences in size. He was, after all, unusually tall for a _Waldschrat._ Conversely, Bucky was unusually short for an _İrşi_. However, their builds ran true to their respective fae species: Bucky was solidly built and Clint was slight. This meant the foot of height that separated them could, in moments such as this, feel more pronounced. 

The thought occurred to Clint that being held like a small child ought to feel more shameful than a bridal carry— but it was a fuzzy, indistinct thought that sounded an awful lot like his father. It was, more crucially, a thought that Bucky was certain to disapprove of; so, Clint paid it no mind. 

Suddenly Clint was... horizontal? 

Blearily, he groped at the soft, undeniably inert surface beneath his hands. The familiar scent combination of sandalwood, clove, and fir hit him. Clint blinked his eyes open to see Bucky’s broad back disappearing into their en suite bathroom. Clearly, somewhere between the labyrinthine corridors of the botanical engineering lab and their quarters, Clint had slipped into a fitful sleep. 

Their quarters were lit dimly and the air was a bit chilly, but not frigid; both indicators of throttled power to the colony’s centralized climate controls. The result was somewhat unpleasant, but it was a sensible measure. Still, Clint hoped they’d replace the cracked leyline soon. Engineering crops that were resistant to harsh colony conditions was difficult enough without dicey utilities. He scrubbed at his face tiredly.

Clint wasn’t sure the last time he’d felt this exhausted. 

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	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for depression stemming from coping with injuries that have caused physical disabilities (also: author is physically disabled). there is a reference to not- _quite_ -suicidal-ideation-but-rather-close? please proceed carefully <3

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“Tony comm’d to say that you’re barred from the lab for at least twelve hours.”

Clint pulled his hands away from his face, staring at Bucky blankly. “What?”

“Twelve hours, no lab. Which means twelve hours for you to rest,” Bucky said. The blunt, clawed tips of his metallic hand tapped out a disjointed beat against the doorway. Bucky fidgeting was a surefire sign he was barely reining in his frustration. Clint winced internally. “And… I comm’d Bruce.”

Fuck. Clint winced _externally_. 

Bucky arched an eyebrow, his mouth a thin, tense line. “I wouldn’t have, but you left me no choice. I took your pulse when you were resting. After you _collapsed_. Your heartbeats are elevated and-”

Clint raised his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. I will concede that I have maybe-” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Okay, that I have _definitely_ pushed myself too hard the past couple of days.”

“More like the past couple of weeks,” Bucky corrected quietly. 

His eyes drifted to the empty display hooks on the opposite wall. Clint tried not to flinch; he refused to follow Bucky’s gaze, but it’s not as if he didn’t know exactly what the other fae was looking at. Or rather, what he _wasn’t_ looking at. 

Clint’s bow.

“I worry about you,” Bucky continued. “Not just these past few weeks, either, but since...”

“Since I was maimed, iron poisoned, and left for dead?” Clint said blithely. “It’s been over a year.”  
  
“Oh, a whole year? Silly me, clearly such a distant past doesn’t-,” Bucky stopped abruptly, throwing his hands up with a frustrated sound. He rubbed the evil eye inked at the hollow of his throat, wincing faintly. “I can’t even be sarcastic about how _little_ time has passed because it’s too close to a lie.” 

“A year is a long time, Bucky,” Clint insisted, but with a notably less cavalier tone.

“Do you know how long it took me to get past this arm of mine?”

“It’s not the same.” 

“Of course it is!”

“No, it isn’t!” 

Clint shook his head jerkily. His chest was tight, a band of agony crushing his ribs. There was a faint ringing in his ears and his hearts were fluttering wildly. This was the last conversation he wanted to have right now. He was so _tired_. 

“How?” Bucky asked. A pleading expression was painted in bright, agonizing strokes across his face. “I don’t understand. Help me to understand, please.”

“Because you’re still fae!” Clint shouted. 

Bucky reeled back as if Clint had struck him. “You don’t actually feel that way,” he said faintly. “Kuşum, being fae isn’t something that can be taken from you.”

“Sure it is,” Clint replied woodenly. “I can’t manipulate the magicks of my colony, heal, or- or bond. Totally and completely null. Sure some fae can’t do one reliably, but all three? There’s a reason Severings were banned a millennia ago. An execution would have been kinder.”

The world around him was so blurry all of a sudden. Clint must be more tired than he’d thought if his vision was this compromised. No wonder Bucky was concerned. He blinked in surprise as Bucky entered his immediate sightline. Long, warm arms enveloped Clint. He sat there on the bed, stiff and unmoving as a sapling in its first hard freeze. 

“Bucky?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky said, voice thick and unwieldy. He gasped faintly, shaking around Clint’s smaller frame. “I don’t know how to help you. It hurts like, like- losing my arm all over again. It _hurts_ to hear you say things like that. But it’s not about me. It _can’t_ be about me. You deserve to feel however you feel but I- I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

Clint blinked rapidly, sending the tears that had been flooding his vision streaming down his cheeks. It just… it hurt so _much_. An unrelenting, grinding agony; day, after day, after day. He’d thought that if he could just find another way to be _useful_ , to contribute- 

Maybe that would fill the void. 

Maybe that would make him belong. 

Maybe that would make him _fae_ again.

So Clint had picked the most impactful null job he could find. Analyzing botany samples was normally given to the least powerful of the _W_ _aldschrat_ in the colony. Even the weakest fae could inadvertently bias a botanical sample, completely contaminating an experiment; rendering its results useless. 

Perfect for a null like Clint.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it was not clear, this chapter is a memory. i am the literal worst at scene transitions. this is, i assume, a big part of why why i struggle to finish long things. because why transition scenes when you can just write them minute to minute in excruciating detail? *sips coffee serenely*


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have entered the nsfw zone. the final chapter will be free from the sexytimes if you'd like to pick back up on the next update.

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Clint had been in such a dark place then. Sometimes, when he cast his mind back, Clint didn’t even recognize himself. It was jarring to realize that even a lifetime as short as his own could contain so many definitive turning points; so many identities. Markgraf, second son, warrior- now scientist.

The spasming in his left thigh increased in frequency, interrupting his musings.

“And invalid,” Clint murmured with a wry smile. The term didn’t have the same sting anymore.

What a difference another year could make.

He rubbed at his thigh for some relief with limited success, peering out their window at the dark streets below. The colony was quieter than usual, even for such a late hour. Clint craned his neck to see past the thick canopy overhead. The colony’s shielding warped the spread of stars he managed to make out between the leafy boughs; like a gently rippled, iridescent lens. 

It was beautiful.

“A pfennige for your thoughts.”

Clint startled, bonking his head indecorously against the headboard. “Ow, curse you Janissaries and your light feet,” he said with an exaggerated pout. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, clearly dismissing Clint’s antics. Though, truth be told, Clint was only half-joking. Bucky’s ability to enter a room, even one so small as this, completely undetected was frequently unnerving.

“Clint, don’t avoid the subject.”

“You startled the subject right out of my skull!”

“Mm, didn’t take much, did it?”

“So rude. I can’t believe this,” Clint shook his head in mock outrage. He was really warming up to his role now. “Our people are supposed to be allies, you know- mmph!”

“I want to work on your legs now, if that’s okay,” Bucky said calm and even. He removed his hand from where he’d splayed it across Clint’s mouth. “Pants on or off?” he asked, eyeing Clint assessingly. 

Clint gasped, feigning scandal. “So forward- how uncouth for a gentlefae like yourself,” he replied, rubbing at his dry eyes clumsily. “What would your mother say?”

“My mother would tell me to put you over my-”

“Nope! Absolutely not- halt that line of thought right there if you ever want me to be able to look your mother in the eye again.”

Bucky’s mouth, usually so solemn, split into a wide and mischievous grin. “Don’t start what you can’t finish... Markgraf Barton.”

“Ugh, never do that title bullshit to me again. I feel unclean,” Clint said, laughing despite himself. Unfortunately, the sudden movement set off another wave of spasms down his legs. He clenched his fists, panting quietly through the pain.

Bucky’s impish expression sobered immediately. “You really should let me help with that.”

Clint released an aggrieved groan. “You aren’t my nurse.”  
  
“No, canım, I’m not. But I hate to see you suffer, so damn it- let me _help you_.”

The other fae’s eyes flickered fiercely, reflecting Clint’s own frustration- his pain. All of Clint’s puffed-up, impotent pride deflated in the face of Bucky’s distress. He’d trade any manner of vulnerability a thousand times over to keep Bucky’s smile. 

“Yeah, okay,” Clint sighed. He cupped Bucky’s cheek gently, stroking a thumb across the tender skin beneath his eye. “Sorry, I know we’ve been through this before.”

Bucky turned to kiss Clint’s wrist; feather light and sweet. “We have, but it’s been a while since you’ve overworked yourself into a flare. It makes sense that you’re off-kilter.”

“So, I’m thinking… pants off?” 

“I’m always happy to take off your pants, kuşum. **”**

“You and your pet names, I swear-” Clint said, choking off with an abrupt and unbecoming squeak as Bucky slid down to kneel smoothly between his legs. “Oh fuck.”

“Eventually,” Bucky replied with a smirk. 

He unfastened the tie of Clint’s pants with elegant yet economical movements. In short order, Clint was sprawled in nothing but his briefs and tunic. Bucky ran his hands up and down Clint’s legs with aching, tender care. Clint tried not to look. He hated the ropy, knotted web of scars that criss-crossed his legs from ankles to hips. Even as scars went, they were unattractive. More vulgar still because scars like these were a reminder of just one thing; the taint of iron’s touch.

Clint thrummed with tension, legs jerking minutely against his will as more spasms were triggered by his ill-ease. Bucky pressed his palms down more firmly. One large hand wrapped around Clint’s calf neatly; the other splayed across Clint’s opposite thigh.

Clint couldn’t help himself any longer. He looked. 

Bucky’s eyes met his briefly and a faint thrill tripped its way up Clint’s spine at the intensity he saw there. Beneath his brooding, almost waspish exterior, Bucky hid a core of tender possessiveness. 

As Clint watched, Bucky reached for the bedside table drawer. He pulled out a bottle of massage oil and uncapped it, pouring a generous amount into his hands. Bucky rubbed his palms together vigorously, warming the oil, then stroked his hands down Clint’s legs in long, sure open-palmed strokes. Once he was satisfied, Bucky began to knead; gently at first, but with a gradual firmness. 

Surrendering to the relief each released knot sent coursing through his frame, Clint sank against the headboard limply. Bucky pressed a light kiss along the inside of one knee with an approving murmur. Clint sighed out a pleased groan as Bucky hit a particularly tender spot, arching slightly as the muscle finally gave way. Bucky reached to cup his cock lightly, his huge palm covering it with ease. Clint swallowed down his gasp and watched intently. His cock twitched against the warm press of Bucky’s hand. Maybe some would feel embarrassed or ashamed at how easily their cock fit into a hand like Bucky’s- but it always sent a wave of arousal crashing over Clint; a wave so strong and heady that he could barely breathe. 

Without even moving his hand, Bucky traced the outermost edge of Clint’s briefs with his thumb in big arcing sweeps. He ducked his head to lick at the seam between Clint’s groin and thigh. Clint cried out, shuddering at the sensation of Bucky’s answering smile against his skin. Bucky pressed his mouth there and bit down. 

Clint felt precome soaking into his briefs. He felt it, gods- he felt it dirtying Bucky’s hand. 

“Bucky, please,” Clint said faintly, voice trailing off to a thready whine. He was so tired, he _was_ \- but there was a livewire of sensation caught, trapped and itching beneath his skin. “I need-”

“Shit, I’m not trying to actually fuck you tonight,” Bucky said, low and apologetic. “I know you’ve barely slept. I’m sorry, I should’ve never-”

“Bucky, if you don’t get me off in the next five minutes I’m kicking you out this bed and doing it myself.”

Clearly, these were acceptable terms because Bucky wasted no time peeling down Clint’s briefs and sucking him off. Clint loved pretty much everything about Bucky, but ye gods- the fae’s _mouth_. Bucky’s mouth was absolutely perfect for Clint’s cock. It covered him from root to tip, wet and warm and soft and enveloping. Clint shoved a fist against his mouth, trying desperately to keep the sharp, gut-punched sounds from spilling out. Bucky clearly objected, reaching up to tug Clint’s wrist with gentle but insistent strength. He gathered both of Clint’s hands and placed them atop his own shaggy, soft hair. Obediently, Clint stroked and tugged at his dark hair with shaking fingers, murmuring encouraging nonsense between his moans.

Bucky’s brown eyes flared brightly and he groaned appreciatively; always undone by praise, his Bucky. Clint tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair and tugged sharply, hips jerking helplessly into that delicious wet heat. The bed shifted under them both- once, twice, then a third time. Clint blinked away the stars from his eyes to see Bucky grinding his hips into the mattress. His hands were wrapped around Clint’s own hips; spanning so widely across the smaller fae’s back that his fingertips nearly met at the base of Clint’s spine. It was the sight of Bucky rocking desperately against the mattress- unwilling to take his hands from Clint for even a moment- that sent Clint hurtling over the edge. 

When he drifted back to himself, limbs still buzzing and heavy, Clint reached for Bucky on instinct. 

“Shh, no, don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Bucky soothed. Clint, confused, simply yawned and obeyed. 

Warm, soft dampness stroked down his chest and abdomen, between his legs and disappeared. It returned for a second pass that included his limbs. A warm rag, he realized muzzily. Bucky wrapped him in a dry, thin blanket and pulled the duvet over them both.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my fave things (from a purely aesthetic and sexual dynamic standpoint) about 616 winterhawk is the height difference. so i wanted to play in this little HC with the idea that clint is actually still quite tall among his people, but small next to bucky. and vice versa. because i was _trying_ to keep this a quick writing exercise, i didn't delve too deeply into that- but hopefully the foundation is there.


	4. Chapter Four

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Clint woke slowly, peeling layer after layer of sleepy contentment back from his consciousness. He stretched carefully, wary of his legs locking up if got ahead of himself. The muscles were a tad stiff, but leagues away from the immobile columns of pain they’d been last night. It seemed as though Bucky’s massage had worked wonders.

Clint levered himself up, shed the heavy duvet, and propped himself up against the headboard. He scratched idly at his somewhat matted hair and yawned expansively. Eugh. The rundown sonic showers in the lab could only do so much. A proper shower was in order as soon as he’d acquired a healthy cup of kahve. Which, by the smell of things, Bucky was in the midst of brewing. Excellent.

A clean, neatly folded tunic laid atop Bucky’s abandoned pillow. “He really does think of everything,” Clint said wonderingly. He tugged it on, savoring the feel of crisp, clean linen against his skin. 

A curious chirrup sounded just over his right shoulder and Clint huffed out a low laugh, reaching up and over blindly. His fingers caught on a familiar hard-sharp-slick texture. Immediately, needlelike points pierced his tunic and Clint winced reflexively. 

“Ow, little buddy. Watch the claws,” he said quietly. A compact, dense weight settled against his shoulder and neck, cool scales sliding against Clint’s warm skin. The weight immediately began rumbling. “Yeah, yeah- I missed you too,” Clint said, reining in his laughter to keep from shaking his scaly friend off.

“I see Alpine has taken up her favorite perch,” Bucky said, ducking under the bedroom doorway neatly. He was, Clint noted happily, holding a tray. 

He placed the tray atop the side table. Clint peered at it hopefully, observing with delight two steaming cups of kahve and a plate piled with an array of bite-sized morsels. Bucky sat down on the bed, causing the mattress to dip slightly. Clint reached up to steady Alpine and let himself roll closer until he was tucked neatly against the larger fae’s side. Huffing out an amused grunt, Bucky stroked Clint’s unruly bangs back with his scaled left hand with an indulgent smile. Clint turned into the touch with a pleased hum. 

“You jealous that Alpine likes me so much?” he asked cheekily.

Bucky shook his head, smiling faintly. “No, there would be no point.”

“Well, no- but that’s not how emotions work. People are jealous of their familiars all the time.”

As if to reassure her bonded, Alpine butted against Bucky’s scaled hand with a faint squeal of delight. He thumbed back the fine, petal-shaped fronds around her throat gently. She crooned in approval and Clint struggled not to giggle at the tickling rumble of her scales against his throat. 

“Dragons are notoriously fickle, you know that- the _Kardelen_ even more than most. I’m proud of Alpine’s affection for you, not jealous.”

Clint’s throat felt desert dry, suddenly. “Oh, that’s good to know,” he managed to say.

Alpine curled her tail around his rib cage, releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. She turned to watch Clint, her icy blue eyes gleaming with a fierce intelligence. Clint knew that, as a dragon, Alpine was more clever than most familiars- but even so, he swore her understanding of the conversations around her exceeded even that metric. 

Bucky handed Clint a cup, then perched the breakfast plate on his lap carefully. He wasn’t a fae inclined to much conversation; few _İrşi_ were. An understandable adaptation for a race of fae under permanent compulsion to be utterly forthright at all times, Clint thought. Usually, Clint filled the silence between them with rambling, idle musings and half-sung nonsense. Today, however, Clint simply cooed affectionate endearments to Alpine and sipped his khave. 

He used to think that peace and purpose were interchangeable. Hells, Clint used to believe that the former could never be achieved without the latter. Strangely enough it was having his purpose stripped away, struggling to rediscover it, failing again and again…

“I was thinking that the starshine looked beautiful,” Clint said, suddenly.

Beside him, Bucky stiffened. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Clint smiled, tilting his head up to face him. “Last night, you offered a pfennige for my thoughts.” Bucky nodded cautiously, comprehension slowly transforming his expression. Clint met his lovely, changeable eyes. “My thoughts were of how different things are- how different I am. Then I just, well, I looked at the stars until you came back.” 

“Alright,” Bucky replied, seeming somewhat mystified still. “That’s- I’m glad. Everyone should admire the stars now and again.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. He ran the back of his knuckles down the metallic scales of Bucky’s left arm idly. “They really should.”

“Clint, you’re being obtuse again.”

“Sorry, sorry- force of habit. What I mean is…” Clint paused, tilting his head in thought. He needed to find the right words. Bucky deserved them. “I was exhausted and half-crippled by pain. It reminded me of a time before- that night, maybe a year ago? When you told me you wanted to help.”

“Yes, I know the night you’re talking about,” Bucky said, voice cracking around the edges. Alpine crooned in concern, shifting restlessly between them. She stilled only when Bucky laid a quelling hand along her spine.

Clint kissed Bucky’s shoulder, feeling almost apologetic. It was not, after all, a happy memory. “Back then I was so lost in my own exhaustion, my hurt, that I didn’t even notice beautiful things like the stars. I’m not sure I knew how,” he said, smiling ruefully at Bucky. “But last night I could, and I did. Same exhaustion, same hurt- but…” 

“But a different Clint.”

“Yeah, a different me.”

“I’m glad,” Bucky said quietly. “I love the clumsy youth that tripped into me at court so many years ago. I love the warrior I fought beside on the battlefield. I love the survivor that escaped capture and returned to me. I have not failed to love any version of _you_ , ever.”

“I sense a but,” Clint said, smiling encouragingly. 

“But this is the you that I have _now_ , and I want him to enjoy the stars. If that means you’re different, then I can’t find a reason to be sad. Does that make me selfish, aşkım?”

“No, I don’t think that’s selfish,” Clint replied. He laced his fingers between Bucky’s metallic ones. “Especially if we get to enjoy the stars together.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed! i'm adding a 'story notes' chapter- if anyone is interested to see translations for the terms of endearments used/'verse specific terms and a general idea of how this 'verse operates, that is where you will find answers \o/


	5. 'verse Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Term definitions/translations and A/N for the 'verse.

Part of the writing exercise was to create a mini outline in five minutes. I looked at my WH Bingo, picked three prompts, and went for it. The results?

Fairies in space. That’s it. That’s was the 'blended' prompt my brain landed on. Therefore:

  * Bucky is an _İrşi_ , a Turkish semi-desert fae who can’t lie and who has opted to stay with Clint/his people
  * Clint is a _Waldschrat,_ a Germanic forest fae, and Duke’s son within his colony 



As I wrote, I generated a loose backstory in the back of my head as a guide. I’m leaning towards something like this:

  * the colonies exchange first sons during their childhoods in order to maintain peace.
  * it’s custom for the first sons to bring with them a companion. For the _İrşi,_ who have Janissaries, this meant sending Buket (Turkish name and, technically, a woman’s name, but do I care? Not in the slightest) with the İrşi's first son to the _Waldschrat_ colony.
  * Buket and Clint meet; Clint tries and fails to say his name correctly; this upsets Buket and they clash as children sometimes do.
  * they spat until they’re about *see-saw hand motion*, I dunno, maybe fae equivalent of 15-16? Then there is [insert bonding incident here]. After this incident, Buket not only tolerates Clint calling him “Bucky”, but he actively encourages it.
  * the first sons of the two colonies come of age (which is *mumblemumblemumble*) and Bucky is free to decide if he’d like to stay or return to his home colony. Tensions are high with the Chitauri and Bucky knows that as the more expendable second son, Clint will be tasked to lead any military force- so he decides to stay.
  * over the span of several months tensions get higher between them and [insert sexytimes here].
  * then bam, Chitauri conflict pops off, Clint is tasked to lead _Waldschrat_ forces, and Bucky knows if they’re found out he’ll be transferred due to fraternization rules.
  * Bucky stops their relationship abruptly; Clint is hurt and eventually pissed; Clint sends Bucky away anyway because it hurts too much to be around him and he has a job to do.
  * Clint is captured and Severed. He manages to escape/facilitate his own rescue.
  * during his recovery period he and Bucky repair their relationship.



...the end?

*The thing I waffled on longest was whether or not to have Clint be deaf as he is in the comics. To be honest, he probably will _be_ deaf if I further this series. That said, I did really want to write something focusing specifically on physical limitations that involve mobility, since that is highly underrepresented in media.

\--

Bucky’s endearments list! \o/

  * Aşkım - my love
  * Bebetom - my baby
  * Canım - my life (direct translation) but colloquially “my dear”
  * Kuşum - my bird



Other terms:

  * Kardelen - snowdrop; aka: _İrşi_ for the type of dragon that Alpine is. Her species is called that because they are white with a neck frill that resembles the petals of the snowdrop flower.
  * Markgraf - (in this context) Military leader from not just a tactical standpoint but also a governing one; ie: Clint’s title as a second son of the _Waldschrat._



The magical tattoos:

  * Clint has a purple chevron on his chest. I HC that he and Bucky got it to mimic the bond they can no longer create since Clint was Severed. 
  * Bucky has an evil eye tattoo in the hollow of his throat. I HC this is a traditional _İrşi_ tattoo that flares painfully when an _İrşi_ lies. 



* * *

**Ta da! That’s it!**

I forced myself to write in four blocks of roughly 1k words of semi-coherent completeness... lest this linger in a WIP folder for years and atrophy. I have written more since those four sessions, but I can’t decide on things like tone (Bucky keeps leaning towards really formal language, idk why??) and side characters, etc etc. So it may be that this is destined to be a ‘verse that gets sporadic snips in the future. 💜

**Author's Note:**

> my loving thanks to vexbatch, lira, and faustess for cheering me on and reading through for basic SPAG and flow. any and all errors are mine. 
> 
> Winterhawk Bingo SQs I5 (height difference), G2 (pet names), & O5 (character can’t lie); BBB SQ O3 (tattoo)


End file.
